Playful Poems | Page 7

he thought 'twould burst
his heart;
He bent his bow, and set therein a dart,
And in his ire he
hath his wife yslain;
He hath; he felt such anger and such pain;
For
sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,
Both harp and lute, gittern
and psaltery,
And then he brake his arrows and his bow,
And after
that, thus spake he to the crow:-
"Traitor," quoth he, "behold what thou hast done;
Made me the
saddest wretch beneath the sun:
Alas! why was I born! O dearest wife,

Jewel of love and joy, my only life,
That wert to me so steadfast
and so true,
There liest thou dead; why am not I so too?
Full
innocent thou wert, that durst I swear;
O hasty hand, to bring me to
despair!
O troubled wit, O anger without thought,
That unadvised
smitest, and for nought:
O heart of little faith, full of suspicion,

Where was thy handsomeness and thy discretion?
O every man, hold
hastiness in loathing;
Believe, without strong testimony, nothing;

Smite not too soon, before ye well know why;
And be advised well
and soberly
Before ye trust yourselves to the commission

Of any
ireful deed upon suspicion.
Alas! a thousand folk hath hasty ire

Foully foredone, and brought into the mire.
Alas! I'll kill myself for
misery."

And to the crow, "O thou false thief!" said he,
I'll quit thee, all thy life,
for thy false tale;
Thou shalt no more sing like the nightingale,
Nor
shalt thou in those fair white feathers go,
Thou silly thief, thou false,
black-hearted crow;
Nor shalt thou ever speak like man again;
Thou
shalt not have the power to give such pain;
Nor shall thy race wear
any coat but black,
And ever shall their voices crone and crack
And
be a warning against wind and rain,
In token that by thee my wife
was slain."
So to the crow he started, like one mad,
And tore out every feather
that he had,
And made him black, and reft him of his stores
Of song
and speech, and flung him out of doors
Unto the devil; whence never
come he back,
Say I. Amen. And hence all crows are black.
Lordings, by this example I you pray
Take heed, and be discreet in
what you say;
And above all, tell no man, for your life,
How that
another man hath kissed his wife.
He'll hate you mortally; be sure of
that;
Dan Solomon, in teacher's chair that sat,
Bade us keep all our
tongues close as we can;
But, as I said, I'm no text-spinning man,

Only, I must say, thus taught me my dame; {26}
My son, think on the
crow in God his name;
My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy
friend;
A wicked tongue is worse than any fiend;
My son, a fiend's
a thing for to keep down;
My son, God in his great discretion

Walled a tongue with teeth, and eke with lips,
That man may think,
before his speech out slips.
A little speech spoken advisedly
Brings
none in trouble, speaking generally.
My son, thy tongue thou always
shouldst restrain,
Save only at such times thou dost thy pain
To
speak of God in honour and in prayer;
The chiefest virtue, son, is to
beware
How thou lett'st loose that endless thing, thy tongue;
This
every soul is taught, when he is young:
My son, of muckle speaking
ill-advised,
And where a little speaking had sufficed,
Com'th
muckle harm. This was me told and taught, -
In muckle speaking,
sinning wanteth nought.
Know'st thou for what a tongue that's hasty

serveth?
Right as a sword forecutteth and forecarveth
An arm in
two, my dear son, even so
A tongue clean-cutteth friendship at a blow.

A jangler is to God abominable:
Read Solomon, so wise and
honourable;
Read David in his Psalms, read Seneca;
My son, a nod
is better than a say;
Be deaf, when folk speak matter perilous;
Small
prate, sound pate,--guardeth the Fleming's house.
My son, if thou no
wicked word hast spoken,
Thou never needest fear a pate ybroken;

But he that hath missaid, I dare well say,
His fingers shall find blood
thereon, some day.
Thing that is said, is said; it may not back
Be
called, for all your "Las!" and your "Alack!"
And he is that man's
thrall to whom 'twas said;
Cometh the bond some day, and will be
paid.
My son, beware, and be no author new
Of tidings, whether
they be false or true:
Go wheresoe'er thou wilt, 'mongst high or low,

Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.
CHAUCER'S RIME OF SIR THOPAS
MODERNISED BY Z. A.
Z.
PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.
1.
Now when the Prioress had done, each man
So serious looked,
'twas wonderful to see!
Till our good host to banter us began,
And
then at last he cast his eyes on me,
And jeering said, "What man art
thou?" quoth he,
"That lookest down as thou wouldst find a hare,

For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.
2.
"Approach me near, and look up merrily!
Now make way, sirs!
and let this man have place.
He in the waist is shaped as well as I:

This were a poppet in an arm's embrace,
For any woman, small and
fair of face.
He seemeth elf-like by his countenance,
For with no
wight